Spring memories

Today was our first warm day (59F/15C), and when we got to the coffee shop, I asked Margie what spring was like for her as a girl.

“No coats, no hats, no…those things on the hands. What’s the word? Gloves, yeah, no gloves. I-I-I felt, you know…free. I would yell out the window to my friend on the fifth floor, ‘Johanna!’ and she would come running. We took the ends of chalk from our classrooms, and we saved them till Spring. Then we drew pictures on the sidewalk of the people we loved. I always drew my father. 

“He was such a sweet guy. It was like this. After I drew his picture, I wrote his name. Harry. And then I drew a little heart.

“When he came home from work, he would see it, and it would make him smile. He was such a sweet guy. I love springtime.”

Extra—the finished picture. She seemed weary and a little off balance today, so I made sure she was back at home and in her chair before I left. As I started for the door, she asked, 

“Kendall? When I die, do you think it will be easy? Will I just go to sleep and go on sleeping? Do you think so?”

Yes, I said yes. I think it will be just like that, Margie. Peacefully going to sleep.

“How old am I?”

Ninety-eight.

“That’s very old. That must be why I’m so tired. I think I’ll have a nap now.”